


Cracktrailer - The Space to Breathe

by trishabooms



Series: Cracktrailer [2]
Category: AURPS cracktrailerverse
Genre: Cracktrailer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-14
Updated: 2007-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishabooms/pseuds/trishabooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Snow, one of the nicest people I’ve come across, in fandom and out. Have a lovely birthday!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cracktrailer - The Space to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweptawaybayou](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sweptawaybayou).



> For Snow, one of the nicest people I’ve come across, in fandom and out. Have a lovely birthday!

  
Dave wanted to stop smiling, stop smiling and nodding and playing fucking nice. He wanted to wipe Sarah’s little hand from his arm where it had been glued for most of the evening, wanted to get away from her candy sweet scent that had become so thick and cloying to him that he was close to throwing up. Most of all he wanted to get out, away from the country club, the hawk-like stare of his mother, and from the tanned, tucked and manicured Gellars who were parading him around like some prize fucking stallion to their friends.

He still didn’t know how things had gotten so far away from him.

He looked down at Sarah with her shiny, bright, perky smile. He saw the cheerleader, the prom queen, the pretty girl with the starry-bright future and the mummy and daddy who would throw cash at that future until all Sarah’s wishes were fulfilled. And that’s what he was, one of Sarah’s wishes. He’d come home one day to Mrs Gellar and his momma having afternoon tea, as though that were something she did every day, and talk of them setting a date for the engagement.

After Mrs Gellar _‘You must call me Beth…'_ had gone they’d got into it, he and his momma. He’d thought they could talk, that she’d somehow understand that Sarah wasn’t what he wanted, that he was still looking, still trying to find whatever it was, that elusive thing that he was aiming for. That he wasn’t ready.

He’d discovered that talking to his mother only worked if he was saying what she wanted to hear.

“So I hear it’s to be next June.” The woman, whose name Dave couldn’t remember, was saying, and Dave wondered just how much of the conversation he’d missed. He felt Sarah’s little hand tighten its grip on his arm, knew she expected him to say something, and he watched her shiny smile harden.

“That’s right,” she told the woman. “Daddy has commitments in the spring that…”

He must have heard this same conversation twenty times tonight, knew it by heart, couldn’t fucking bear to hear it one more time. Wouldn’t!

“Would you excuse…” The words came rushing out, falling over each other before he could stop them. “I need to get out…some air… I-I’m sorry, I’m just hot.”

He unwrapped Sarah’s hand from his, backing away from her, his eyes darting between her and the woman, whoever the fuck she was.

“Are you unwell, young man?”

“David, are you all right? Let me come with you. Should I fetch…?”

He shook his head over and over, kept moving back, bumping into someone before he had the sense to turn, find his bearings. He saw his mother, saw her glare from across the room and he knew if he didn’t get out of there, if he had to speak to her, that there’d be things said that he could never take back.

He had to go.

He turned for the door, walking quickly, picking up his pace as he moved through the quickly turning heads of people he didn’t want to know, until he ran out into the night. He paused once he was outside, took in a gulp of fresh air, but he was still wasn’t far enough away from that place to feel like he could really breathe.

He kept running, away from the lakeside country club with its boardwalk and fancy metal lanterns, away from the string of coloured lights that bobbed slightly in the warm breeze. He didn’t stop until he reached the darkness, well away from prying eyes and shiny things.

There was a building behind him, the disused boat house he realised, built for a rowing club that had never, to Dave’s knowledge, existed. He walked over to it, leaning his shoulder against the wooden wall as he pulled in air that felt…freer maybe. It was hot out here, away from the air-conditioning of the country club, and Dave loosened his tie, opened the top two buttons of his shirt. After a while he fished into his trouser pocket, pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. He lit one, only maybe his second of the day, taking a long, deep drag that made him heady, his eyes locked on the country club, all lit up and bright.

He wanted to leave, wanted to get in his Mustang and drive around to the other side of the lake where the water wasn’t so clear and deep, where you could sink to your ankles in the soft mud and feel it squish between your toes. Where the picnic tables were battered and trash littered the patchy crab grass that did its best to grow in the shade of the trees.

Thing was, he wasn’t sure if he belonged there either.

The doors to the country club opened and a he saw Sarah emerge, glance around, heard her call his name. He wondered what she was thinking, if she had the slightest clue why he’d run out of there or whether she was as clueless about what went on in his head as he was about what went on in hers. They’d been dating on and off since she was thirteen. Had been fucking, if you could call it that, from just six months later, but he didn’t know her any better now than he did then.

He thought she’d have a quick glance around and then go back inside, but he was wrong, she seemed hellbent on finding him. He watched her check that his car was still there, heard her calling his name again as she continued looking around.

Dave never took his eyes off her, but he moved a little deeper into the shadows of the boathouse.

“You hidin’ from that itty-bitty girl?”

The deep voice from behind him startled Dave, but it was familiar at once and the chill it sent down his spine was more expectant than unpleasant.

He half turned, seeing nothing in the darkness. “Russ?” He kept his voice to a whisper

“You expectin’ somebody else?” The voice was closer now, right beside his ear, and he felt the press of a warm, hard body against his back.

“No I’m just…”

“Hidin’?” Russ helped him. “Might wanna put out that cigarette then, she gonna see it and smell it otherwise.”

Dave dropped it quickly, grinding out the glowing tip beneath the heel of his shoe and fanning frantically at the air around him.

“That the Gellar girl?” Russ asked him, and Dave gave him a nod in reply, eyes flashing back to Sarah. “Thought she must be.” He heard the smile in Russ’s voice. “I was right, those titties really do look perky under that pretty pink satin.”

For the first time in what felt like forever Dave managed a real laugh, even if it was a damn quiet one.

“Wuz s’pectin’ to see you, after that night with Jimmy.”

“I wanted to,” Dave told him, turning to face Russ. “God, I wanted to, it’s all just…” He shook his head. “Everything just got so fucked up.”

Even this close, Russ’s face was unreadable in the dark.

“It happens. You plannin’ on going back inside?”

Dave shook his head. “No, I can’t fucking breathe in there.”

“Jimmy an’ some of the others havin’ a fine time round the other side of the lake, just sold ‘em some weed. You could go along, have yourself some fun. I kinda thought you’d be there anyway.”

Dave ran a suddenly tired hand through his hair, shook his head.

“Don’t belong there either.” He didn’t know where the fuck he belonged, and that was the truth.

A warm calloused hand came up to wrap itself around his neck, the fingers stroking gently. “Wanna tell me what you do want?”

And suddenly Dave thought he knew. “Just to go somewhere, you and me. I wanna feel good,” he admitted.

The touch on his neck became firm, stroking down beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “C’mon then, quarterback. Get your ass in gear ‘fore that little girl finds us.”

Russ moved fast away from the building and down to the lakeside, a shadow in front of Dave. How he could see a damn thing in the dark Dave had no clue, but he followed behind, keeping up as best he could. He was surprised when they finally stopped, not at Russ’s truck as he’d expected, but at a small boat with an outboard motor.

His surprise must have been obvious because he heard Russ’s soft snort of laughter. “Been making deliveries round the lake, s’quicker usin’ the boat. Just dropped some blow off to Jeffrey Dean at the country club, saw you when I was makin’ my way back.”

“Jeffrey Dean… You mean Chef Morgan?”

“The very same. Why the surprise?”

Dave shrugged. “Just never took him for a coke head.”

A hard cuff to the back of his head startled him.

“He aint. Man don’t have a habit, jus’ likes to kick back, do a line now and then. Jeffrey Dean’s a good man, ain’t too many of those round here.”

“My dad likes him,” Dave admitted, still rubbing at the back of his head. “I don’t really know him.”

“That so?” Russ gave another soft laugh. “Get in the boat, boy, times wastin’.”

Dave had no idea where they were going. The lights of the country club stood out enough for him to make out the general direction, but that was all. At first he thought they were off to see Jimmy and the others at the southern end of the lake, but somewhere out in the centre they veered off towards the western shoreline, heading for what he had no idea.

“Where we going?” he asked over the drone of the outboard.

“Somewhere quiet. You trust me?” Russ asked him.

Dave thought back to that night at Russ’s place, the last time he could remember feeling alive and happy in weeks. He’d replayed that night over and over in his head so many times.

“Yeah,” he told him, “Yeah, I do.”

Russ didn’t say anything else, just stared out across the lake, eyes on wherever it was they were going.

Dave saw it eventually; a light flickering behind the reeds near the shoreline, brightening as they moved closer until he saw that it was perched on top of a wooden jetty. Russ steered them right in, mooring the boat at the bottom of a wooden ladder. A dog appeared almost immediately at the top, barking down at them.

“This place belongs to a friend, he won’t mind us usin’ it.”

“Never knew this place existed,” Dave told him as he followed him up the ladder, looking round as he reached the top. The small house tucked neatly away on the shore was more than a surprise. It looked a pretty nice place, modern, all wood and glass with a wide deck in front of it from which the jetty reached out over the lake.

“Not many do,” Russ told him as he knelt and made a fuss of the dog. “Owner prefers it that way.” He got to his feet and walked up onto the softly illuminated deck. Dave followed him, sparing time to stroke the black and tan dog as he watched Russ walk over to one of the planters, lifting it and retrieving a key from beneath.

“Come on in,” he urged Dave, opening the large glass doors.

Dave couldn’t help but stare around at the room as Russ turned on the lamps. This was a nice place, quiet and comfortable. With the glass doors open out onto the lake, you could hear the warm breeze as it stirred the reeds, hear the night birds calling. He felt like he could breathe here.

“You gonna tell me whose place this is?”

“Can’t hurt I guess. It’s Jeffrey Dean’s place. Nice, huh?”

“Yeah,” he stared round once more. “Real nice.”

Russ reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a leather wallet and throwing it to Dave. “Wanna make us a smoke while I see what the old bastard has to drink? He don’t touch hard liquor so it’s gonna be wine or beer.”

“I- erm…A-anything’s fine…” He had no clue what to say or do. It felt awkward suddenly, like some whacked-out first date.

“You’re thinkin’ too much.” Russ was suddenly there beside him. Hand in his hair, pulling him into a kiss, hard cock grinding against him and bringing his own to instant attention.

The next minute he was kissing back, hands moving beneath Russ’s jacket and pulling at his clothes to get at the hard, smoothly muscled body beneath. Russ broke the kiss to help him, shedding jacket, shirt and t-shirt until he was stood there in nothing but his jeans. Dave stared at him as he traced his fingers over the tattoo on the other man’s chest, the two moles over his right breast, the memories of that first night vivid and powerful.

“I want…” He had to force the words out, too lost in what he was feeling, and unable to meet the eyes of the man in front of him.

A large hand, the fingers rough and calloused caught at his chin, tilted it up until Dave was forced to meet those fiery blue eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Dave admitted, “I want you.”

“Gonna get me,” his voice had roughened. “Gonna feel me deep inside of you, fillin’ you.” He took Dave’s other hand rubbed it against his cloth-covered cock. “Need you relaxed if I’m gonna make it good for you, ‘kay?”

Dave nodded his understanding.

“You gonna roll one for us while I get us a drink?”

“Yeah,” He licked over lips that suddenly felt dry. “Yeah I got it.”

The quarterback was nervous, skittish. Russ had raced upstairs, scrambling through the drawer in the bedroom where he knew Jeff had lube, before coming back down again and grabbing a bottle of wine from the rack. He knew fuck all about the stuff, just that the red was more potent than the white, and the kid needed something to loosen him up.

With the wine and the weed, and using a patience he didn’t normally have, he managed to coax him out of his clothes, and lose what remained of his own.

He took his time exploring the long-limbed body with his mouth and fingers, stroking, kissing and nipping while he feasted his eyes on the tanned, silky soft flesh that covered nicely defined muscle. The boy was definitely an athlete. Russ didn’t doubt that football would be Dave’s ticket out of this shit-hole town, didn’t begrudge him his chance at the good life. Wouldn’t deny anyone that.

He watched for every shiver of pleasure he made run through the boy’s body, repeating and refining that lick, bite, or touch of his fingers until the kid was arching and groaning beneath him, until those full lips fell open in pleasure and the dark lashes fluttered closed.

The night was close, their bodies sweat slick from the heat. Russ turned his attention to the erect cock that was leaking pre-come across the boy’s belly, flicking at the head with the tip of his tongue before taking it between his lips and sliding down.

“God! Russ, please…” Long fingers ghosted over his scalp, barely touching, but he could feel the tension in them, the urge to touch, to hold, to pull him down harder.

He sucked and tongued, listening to the boy gasp before releasing him, letting his lips slide back up to the crown, barely pausing before he took him down again, all the way this time, relaxing his throat, taking him in… And the kid lost it, body arching off the rug as he came down Russ’s throat.

“Fuck!” The quarterback lay spread-eagled on the rug, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, shit-eating grin on his face for the first time tonight.

Russ chuckled. “Like that?”

“God yeah! Feel like I shot it all, like I’ll never come again.”

Russ turned onto his side to face the boy, propping himself on his elbow so he could rest his head on his arm, look at him. “What, never?”

Dave opened his eyes, grin widening when he looked at Russ. “Well, you might have to give me a minute.”

“Don’t think I can wait that long, not when you’re all relaxed for me.” He leaned over, dropping a kiss on those too soft lips, coaxing them open for him to explore that willing mouth, pleased when the kid began to kiss him back, losing his earlier restraint and allowing his hands to smooth over Russ’s skin, fingers skimming and exploring as they kissed.

“Want me?” Russ asked him.

“Yeah.”

He retrieved the lube from the pocket of his discarded jeans, moving back to the boy just in time to stop him from turning over onto his belly.

“Not this time,” he told him. “Wanna see you.”

It was clear the boy was nervous about being so exposed, but Russ took his time, slicking his way until he could ease his fingers inside, opening the boy up nice and slow ‘til he was squirming and asking for more.

“Want you to look at me,” Russ told him as he slid the boy’s legs over his shoulders. “Keep your eyes on mine, okay?”

Dave nodded, the dark brown eyes fixing on him.

Even slick as he was, Dave was tight, and Russ had to go slow, ease his way ‘til he was balls deep inside the wide-eyed, panting boy. He held there watching those dark eyes, seein’ the minute the burn eased and he wanted more.

Russ knew there could never be any future to this, anything more than these few stolen moments between them, but he savoured every minute that this boy was his, stretched out so fine and beautiful beneath him, wantin’ and trustin’.

He took Dave slow at first, long, slow strokes that had those brown eyes wide, pupils blown, tongue continually moistening his kiss-bruised lips until Russ couldn’t hold back any longer and drove into him, racing against his own desire to come. He hitched his hips going fast and hard, saw the moment he rubbed over the boys sweet centre and kept on hittin’ right there ‘til the kid was comin’ apart on him. Russ helped him on, fistin’ that eager cock ‘till Dave was coming over his hand, hips arching, calling out his name over and over. And Russ stroked in deep and hard once, twice more, before he joined the boy, body rigid for a minute, ‘til his bones felt like they were melting away.

They separated. Russ was panting hard, so fucked it was all he could do to pull Dave to him, stroke his sweat slick skin and offer clumsy kisses in place of the endearments that he was incapable of voicing.

Dave fell asleep after a while, long limbs sprawled across the rug, and Russ rolled onto his side, unable to tear his eyes away.

  
The turn of the key in the front door broke Russ out of his contemplation of the sleeping boy. He rose lazily to his feet to follow the scampering, whining dog to the kitchen door.

When he padded in there Bisou was getting all of her daddy’s attention so he crossed to the fridge instead, pulling out a carton of milk.

“Use a glass,” Jeff told him without sparing him a glance.

Russ gave an obligatory pissed off snort before opening the door of the cabinet and taking out a glass. There weren’t many men had the balls to tell him what he could and couldn’t do, but then Jeffrey Dean weren’t like most men.

“Thought you had things to do,” he told Russ, standing up from his fussing with the dog to reach into one of three large paper sacks sitting on the counter. He pulled out what looked like a small steak and gave it to her.

“Still do,” Russ admitted as he poured that glass of milk. “Got myself sidetracked.”

“You fuck this distraction in my bed?”

“Nup.” He returned the carton to the fridge, crossing to the counter to see what was in the bags. “Fucked him on your rug. You got anything to eat in here?”

“You bring some stranger back to my house to fuck, and now you expect me to feed you?”

“Ah- _huh_ , gave him some of your wine to drink too.”

“For your sake, it better not be the good stuff!”

“How the fuck would _I_ know?” He pulled a plastic container from one of the bags. “This shrimp?”

Jeffrey Dean nodded. “In hot sauce, new recipe.”

He took a long drink of the milk. “Might have to try that when I get back.”

“You leavin’?”

“Unfinished bidness, things I need to be doin’. Need you to take care of the boy for me ‘til I get back.”

“The hell! Take him with you!”

Russ shook his head. “Can’t, not this kid.”

Jeffrey Dean gave him a look, then pulled himself away from the counter where he’d been leaning and strode into the back room.

The quarterback hadn’t stirred, was still sprawled out on the rug, dead to the world, his tanned flesh like silk in the lamplight.

He heard Jeffrey Dean’s sigh, looked up to see the man shaking his head at him.

“Ah fuck, that’s ol’ Bob’s kid. What the hell you thinkin’ Russ?”

“Boy’s got troubles.”

“Boy’s got…” Another disbelieving shake of the head was aimed his way. “The kid was at the club tonight, his momma, the Gellars, they’ve all been lookin’ for him. There was talk of bringing in the damn sheriff! You get him high, bring him here?”

“What, you think I fuckin’ kidnapped him?” Russ snarled.

The older man grabbed his arm, led him back into the kitchen. “It’s not what _I_ think, you damn dumbass.”

“Boy needs a friend, that’s all.”

“Jesus Russ!” Jeffrey Dean ran a hand over his eyes. “You go back in there, wake the boy up and get him to phone his momma, let her know he’s safe. If he don’t wanna go home right now…well…I guess he can sleep in the spare room, but he puts his momma’s mind at ease first, you hear me?”

Russ gave him a nod. “You worry too fuckin’ much.”

“I don’t give a shit about this kid, but you…” he grabbed Russ’s face in both hands and those warm, dark brown eyes that Russ could never look away from stared deeply into his before he was pulled into a kiss that was as hard as it was possessive. “You I like,” he told him, breaking the kiss. “Now deal with the kid like I say. I need to grab a shower.”

Russ had gone by the time Jeffrey Dean had finished his shower. He checked the spare room, pushing the door open slightly, and gave a soft sigh of disappointment when he saw the kid’s dark shape sprawled in the bed. He’d hoped the boy might have chosen to go home, but then he doubted Russ had made much effort to be persuasive on that score.

He’d recognised the kid as soon as he saw him. Bob’s boy. He looked a lot like his daddy had at that age, too damn pretty for his own good. His disappearance had sparked off a hell of a fuss at the country club tonight, it was all his waiters and waitresses had been talking about, most of them getting a kick out of him supposedly dumping young Sarah Gellar, leaving the girl in tears.

The boy had better sort himself out. It didn’t do to make an enemy of Beth Gellar, the girl’s mother, and as for the boy’s own mother… He never could get over the fact Bob had ended up married to that bitch.

There was a time they’d been good friends, him, Bob and Viggo. More than friends. They’d grown up closer than folks were willing even to talk about back then. They’d been good days, filled with laughing, fucking, and making promises to each other they’d never be able to keep. Then he and Viggo had joined the marines, gone off to Vietnam to be fuckin’ heroes, or so they thought.

The world had changed when they’d come back. Their country had changed, but they’d changed even more. They’d found Bob all fired up with ambition, too busy making money to give a shit about much else, and already engaged to the richest little bitch that would have him.

Viggo had come back from ‘Nam so fucked up in the head from what he’d seen and done that he could barely cope with living, and Jeff… Well he was just grateful he’d come back at all.

He’d spent time trying to pull Vig’ back from the brink of the precipice that he was teetering on, but he’d gone over anyway, never really climbed back out. Jeff had realised then that he had to take care of himself from there on in.

He’d moved away, taken every bit of help his country was willing to give him back then. He’d gone back to school, trained to be a chef, and had made a pretty good living at it. There was something about it that soothed what had been ailing him, still did. Eventually he’d been drawn home, back to this shit-hole of a town, and built himself a new life here. Well, that was the theory anyway.

He shut the bedroom door on the boy, went back downstairs. Though physically he was tired from work he knew he wouldn’t sleep yet. It always took him a good while to unwind, but at least he had four days’ break to do a thorough job of it. He went into the kitchen to put the leftovers he’d brought home away, then retrieved the empty bottle of wine Russ and the kid had drunk from the floor in the back room. He shook his head when he saw the label; Russ had an unerring talent for choosing the most expensive bottle in the damn rack. The bastard did it every time.

He opened a bottle for himself, taking it and a glass out onto the deck. He lit a cigarette, content to sit back and enjoy while he watched and listened to the lake.

He’d poured out the last of the bottle when he heard the drone of the outboard approach. Roused from sleep, Bisou raced to the end of the jetty to bark out a greeting.

“You _still_ up or are you waitin’ up, old man?” Russ asked as he came onto the deck.

“Still up, and knock off the old man shit. You finished?”

“Yeah. Didn’t think it’d take this fuckin’ long. Any wine left in that bottle?”

“Nope, and don’t go opening another bottle, grab a beer or somethin’.”

“Whatever. Need to clean up some first. The boy okay?”

“Sleepin’ like the dead. You make sure he called home like I told you?”

“Yeah. He spoke to his momma, didn’t go too well from what I heard. You were right though, stopped her from calling the sheriff, at least.”

“He say he was here?”

“No, wouldn’t tell her where he was, just said he was at a friend’s and he’d be back when he was ready.”

“Fair enough.” He took a drink from his glass before getting up and following Russ into the house. He found him in the kitchen running his hands under the faucet and rubbing at his knuckles.”

“That blood?” he asked him.

“Not mine, belongs to Vig’s brother, Ben. He owed me money.”

“Aw shit. You hurt your damn hand?”

“Ain’t nothin’.” He held it out for inspection. “Didn’t need to hurt him so much as scare him. Bastard’s owed me fer three weeks, I couldn’t let it go, retard or not.”

“Ben’s just slow.”

“He’s a fucking idiot, bawled like a goddamned baby!”

“You know Vig’ll probably beat the shit outta him too when he finds out.”

Russ shrugged. “Not my fuckin’ problem. Was thinkin’ maybe I should stop selling to dumbfucks and retards, ‘cept it’d rule out pretty much half the damn town.”

“You _could_ just stop selling.”

The brow above one of those dark, burning blue eyes arched at him. “An live on what ol’ Bob pays me?”

“So do somethin’ else. Come and work for me.”

“I’d go crazy and you know it.”

Maybe he did. “Offer’s always open, Russ. You hungry?”

“Yeah, been hankering for that shrimp. Might not wanna work in your fuckin’ kitchen, old man…but that don’t mean I don’t wanna eat your cookin’.”

Jeff laughed. “Bring it outside, we need to talk.”

“What the hell we been doin’ if it weren’t talkin’?”

He lost the smile to let Russ know he wasn’t kidding around. “Outside,” he said quietly.

By the time Russ wandered outside with a plate of shrimp and a beer, Jeffrey Dean was back in his deckchair, cigarette in one hand, the other tickling Bisou behind the ears as she lay with her head in his lap.

Russ sat down cross-legged on the deck opposite him. “So talk,” he prompted before tucking into the shrimp with his fork.

“Okay, you wanna tell me about this kid? You fuckin’ him cuz you like him or cuz he’s Bob’s kid?”

Russ put down the plate, took a long, slow pull on his beer before answering. The smart-ass answer he was looking for was slow in coming so he plumped for the truth. “You know, I wanted to. From the first time I noticed him hanging ‘round with Jimmy and the rest of them, realised just whose kid he was, I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to fuck him, hurt him, brand my fuckin’ name on him and break him apart for Bob to see. Then I’ll be damned if Jimmy didn’t bring him out to my place a few weeks back, gimme the chance.”

“And?”

“There it was right in front of me, a way to hurt that fucker, do to his boy what he done to me, make him hurt the way I hurt…” He stopped, looked away from Jeff and picked up his fork, stabbed at the shrimp on his plate with no further thoughts of eating it. “Bob, he… I thought he lov… I thought the sun rose and set on him back then, but he never really gave a shit. I was just another hole to fuck, somethin’ different from the missus. Oh he threw me a bone, gave me work when I came outta prison but… It had more to do with me keeping my mouth shut than him giving a shit, knew that right off.”

He put down the fork, rubbing both hands over his shaved skull, feeling the velvet texture of the growing hair. “He always that way, Bob?”

“Lookin’ back I guess he always had a greedy streak, was always wantin’.”

“I couldn’t do it. When it came down to it, I jus’ couldn’t. I fucked Dave cuz I liked him, cuz he made me forget whose boy he was and start lookin’ at him. I don’t see ol’ Bob in him no more.”

“I’m guessin’ the boy don’t know about you and his daddy?”

Russ just glared at Jeffrey Dean before picking up his beer and taking a drink. “He got enough on his mind without that.”

“So I heard. Sarah Gellar, she’s a pretty girl.”

“Not his choice.”

“Boy’s got a tongue in his head.”

“Yeah and he got Norma-Rae for a momma. That woman’s a bitch!”

“Won’t get no argument from me there, but she’s still the boy’s momma. He got feelings for you, the boy?”

“Some. I think maybe he’s more sure ‘bout what he don’t want than what he does. Kid’s bright, he’s already figured there ain’t nuthin’ for him in this town, He just needs to learn to enjoy what there is ‘til he’s old enough to get the hell out next year.”

There was silence and when Russ looked up, it was to find Jeffrey Dean grinning at him.

“Whut?”

The older man just shook his head. “You. You just never fail to surprise me.”

“Go fuck yourself, old man!” The tone was harsh but he couldn’t keep the trace of a smile from his face.

“This old man’s ready for bed,” he told him, getting slowly to his feet. “Turn off the lights when you go up, huh?”

Russ looked up at him. “Bed in the spare room’s pretty big, room fer three I’m thinking.”

Jeffrey Dean grinned. “I’m way too vanilla these days for a threesome, ‘side which I need my sleep.” The grin slipped, the look becoming intense. “Don’t hurt this kid, Russ.”

“Ain’t plannin’ to.”

It was some time just before noon when Jeffrey Dean thought about leaving his bed, enjoying the luxury of a long, leisurely shower before he dressed and made his way downstairs. He’d noted the door to the spare room stood open, the bed neatly made. It looked like Bob’s kid had been raised right at least, he knew the bed making wouldn’t be Russ’s work.

He’d thought they must be gone but when he went downstairs the windows stood open onto the deck so he made his way outside, bare feet making no sound on the sun-bleached wood.

The boy was stretched out in his deckchair, eyes closed, shirt off and slung over the back of the chair with his jacket and tie. The boy had the broad shouldered, slim-hipped perfection of youth, his already tanned skin soft over lightly sculpted muscle. He wore a silver cross on a long chain that glinted brightly in the sunlight. He looked so like Bob had in that moment that it almost took his breath away.

He must have sighed instead, maybe louder than he’d thought because the boy’s eyes flicked open in alarm.

“Chef… Chef Morgan, I-I erm…”

He chuckled. “Jeffrey Dean’ll do son,” he told him. “Russ gone?”

“Yeah, early. It had only just got light. He said it would be okay if I slept longer. I just woke up a while ago and the dog was scratching, so I let her out, sat down to wait…”

“It’s fine kid, don’t worry about it. You had breakfast?”

He shook his head.

“Want some? Got myself a hankering for a stack of pancakes,” he grinned, pleased when the boy smiled back.

“Sounds good. I’m starved,” he admitted.

“Pancakes it is then. You know how to make coffee?”

“Yessir, I make good coffee.”

“Best come prove it then, save me the job.”

They ate breakfast back out on the deck. The boy Dave proved to be good company once he felt at ease. They talked about sports and cars as they ate and Jeffrey Dean found himself searching for traces of Bob and Norma-Rae in him that went any deeper than his looks. Charm, he guessed from his daddy, the boy wasn’t short of that. What the hell he’d inherited from Norma-Rae other than her deep brown eyes he had no fucking clue.

After they cleaned up and done the dishes Dave decided he’d better go home, stop his momma from going crazy, so Jeffrey Dean drove him back to the country club to get his car.

“I never asked,” Dave realised. Though they’d talked, the man hadn’t really asked him anything personal. “How do you know Russ?”

“How do I know him, or why do I let him treat my house like his own?”

He shrugged. “Both I guess.”

“Knew his granddaddy, evil old bastard. Known Russ since he was a kid, though he’s definitely changed some since then.” He leaned over the steering wheel, soft brown eyes meeting Dave’s. “He grew up _real_ hard, fuck knows how he survived it. That’s why he’s the way he is. But there’s a good man in there for anyone who dares to look. We get along, Russ and me.” The chef smiled. “You like him too, huh?”

“He used to scare the shit outta me, but yeah, I like him. I…” he hesitated, “I know where I am with him.”

“What about Sarah?”

He sighed. “He told you about that, huh?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t have to, even my damn dishwasher was talkin’ ‘bout it last night.”

“Fuck!”

“I’m guessing your momma’s pretty pissed, huh?”

“Yeah, well maybe if she started living her own life and stayed the fuck out of mine! She just… I can’t breathe around her anymore.”

“You tried talkin’ to her?” Jeffrey Dean asked him.

He raised an eyebrow. “You ever met my momma?”

“Actually, yeah. I was just thinkin’ she might’a mellowed with age. Guess not, huh?”

Dave laughed, shook his head.

“They’ve got things all planned out for me y’know? My momma, Sarah, the Gellars, and they don’t know… _I_ don’t know. I just need…”

He looked away from the kind eyes, looked out at the lake, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

“What is it that you need?” Jeffrey Dean asked him.

He shrugged, opening the door and climbing out of the truck. “I need,” he said finally, “for them to leave me alone…back the fuck off. I need them to give me some space so I can breathe.”

  
Watching as Dave closed the door, threw his jacket over his shoulder, and walked away across the parking lot towards the bright blue Mustang, Jeffrey Dean couldn’t help wondering if the kid would ever get that space to breathe.

The End


End file.
